Tanzerian didn't even blink.

  "Do you have anything else to say?" asked Kirby.

  "Nice jacket," answered Tanzerian.

  "We're done here."

  Kirby balled the napkin and tossed it into the wastebasket. It bounced off the rim across the opening, hit the opposite side, and then bounced back and forth along the inside to rest on the crumpled remains of the bag from the burger joint.

  Sergeant Darling came into the conference room. "Well," she said, "Tanzerian's booked and the next bus to the city jail is in an hour."

  "I didn't learn much from him that we didn't already know," said Kirby, "other than that he seems to like my jacket."

  "I guess it's got a certain retro charm," said Darling, as she studied the jacket, which looked well-worn and dotted with pockets and pouches. "Where did you get it?"

  "I got it in a little store in a side street in Geneva," answered Kirby, "it's Swiss Army surplus."

  "Let me guess," said Darling, "the sleeves unfold into a bottle opener."

  "Gustav said the same joke when I bought it," replied Kirby. Gustav nodded from his seat in the corner.

  "What does the patch on the shoulder say?"

  "It's a Battlestar Galactica space fighter pilot patch," answered Kirby. "I have a Justice League Trainee patch on the other shoulder."

  Kirby's phone rang, it was Molly calling.

  "Just a second," said Kirby as he pulled out the phone. "Hello, Molly."

  "Hey Kirby," said Molly from the hotel, "have you been able to avoid getting run over again?"

  "Yes," answered Kirby, "I'm back at the police station. That guy Gustav caught turned out to be a paparazzi looking for a scoop."

  "I was hoping he'd turn out to be Erica's mystery stalker and be ready to confess to everything," sighed Molly.

  "He still might be," said Kirby, "the police tech people are going over Erica's laptop and seeing if any of the stalker pictures match anything in Tanzerian's files. The guy literally had at almost four dozen flash drives on him, all full of pictures."

  "Almost four dozen?"

  "Okay," said Kirby, "I counted forty-three flash drives, but I didn't see all of them."

  "Ooh," said Molly, "I've dug some stuff up that might help you."

  "Now you're playing detective?"

  "I'm sticking with stuff I can find online from the safety of your suite," said Molly. "Unlike you, I like to keep some distance between myself and the homicidally inclined."

  "I'm not sure if 'homicidally' is a word," said Kirby.

  "No one likes a know-it-all," said Molly, "besides I did manage to dig some stuff up all by myself."

  "Then stop keeping me in suspense and tell me," said Kirby.

  "You know about Ashmore's bad contract with MaxCo?"

  "Yes," said Kirby.

  "Well," said Molly, "I've done some research, and it seems that MaxCo itself is in a similar situation."

  "How?"

  "Did you know that movies can't get made without some sort of insurance coverage?"

  "It's not that big a stretch of the imagination."

  "It seems that Max Cooperman has been having some trouble getting insurance for The Vengeance Sisters movie," continued Molly, "he's had a few movies get cancelled before the shooting started and he's cashed out on their insurance. Now his movies won't be covered until after the shooting starts."

  "So he has to at least get the movie started," said Kirby.

  "After that," explained Molly, "he's in the clear. If something happens to the movie and he's got to shut down after shooting starts he's in a win-win situation. He gets the insurance money, and he keeps the ownership rights over the Atlantic Comics characters."

  "That's making me think," said Kirby. "I heard him talking to this mystery man about getting a job done on Tuesday. Maybe the guy got the day wrong? Maybe Erica saw or heard something she shouldn't have? Maybe–"

  "Maybe he's just some guy working on the movie?" asked Molly.

  "Exactly," said Kirby, "I could be the one misunderstanding everything, and Cooperman may not have anything to do with this."

  "I wish we had nothing to do with this," said Molly.

  "I wish none of this ever happened," said Kirby, "this isn't the first time, and I worry that it's not going to be the last."

  "I should let you go," said Molly, "I've got to kick Mitch's ass for sleeping with that sleazy actress."

  "Don't blame Mitch for that," said Kirby, "he's just a man. I'm not saying that you shouldn't kick his ass, because there are lots of other things you can kick his ass for. But you might want to give him a pass on that one."

  "You know," said Molly, "when we got back to the suite this morning, I swore I could sense the bitchiness factor in the room rise about fifty per cent. It's like she left a trail behind her."

  "Only fifty?"

  "My own sweet nature tempered it."

  "Temper being the operative word."

  "I'm half Sicilian and half Irish," answered Molly, "I'm all temper."

  "I really should let you go," said Kirby. "Feel free to abuse the room service, and feel even freer to abuse Mitch, but save some of each for me."

  "I will," said Molly. "Goodbye."

  "I'll see you in a little while," said Kirby.

  Kirby hung up the phone, stuck it back in his jeans pocket and started to take off his jacket. Despite its light weight and the building's air conditioner running full blast, it was starting to feel uncomfortable.

  "Is that your girlfriend?" asked Darling.

  "No," said Kirby. There were no hooks or hangers for his jacket, so he folded it over and laid it on the counter next to the coffee maker. "It's kind of complicated. No, actually, it's very simple; however we manage to make it complicated."

  "I think I know that situation."

  "Any word from forensics on the computers?" asked Kirby.

  "Mr. Haring got us into Erica's computer without a problem," said Darling, "they're printing copies for us to look at. But it looks like Tanzerian's stuff is password protected, and I don't think he's going to give it to us."

  "His password is his birthdate," said Kirby, "backwards."

  "Now how the hell do you know that?" asked Darling. "Are you a real mind reader?"

  "No," said Kirby, "he's not a very original thinker, so his birthdate is the obvious choice, but he thinks he's clever, so it'll be backwards."

  "This I have to see," said Darling as she took out her cell phone and speed dialled forensics. "Hey, Della, it's Liz Darling, did you try Tanzerian's birthdate as his password? ... You did; no dice... Could you try it backwards? ... Yeah, I'll wait... Yes... No way?" Darling cupped her hand over the phone, "It worked. His files are all open." Then she went back to the phone. "Print the ones from the last three days first, and we'll be right down there to see it. Great work."

  "We're going to see the forensics lab?" asked Kirby.

  "Yes," said Darling, "get moving."

  Too many years of crime shows on TV had tainted Kirby's opinion of crime labs. Each time he visited one, part of him hoped for slick, neon-lit, laboratories, populated by equally slick and sexy technicians. Sadly, the flickering florescent lights and sickly bureaucracy-yellow paint of reality always dashed his fantasies.

  They were greeted by a short woman in a lab coat and black framed glasses named Della Greene, who resembled Velma from Scooby-Doo a little too much for Kirby's comfort. Once they got past the introductions and the traditional surprise at the appearance of Gustav, she directed them to a computer and stacks of photo prints.

  "There's over a hundred photos sent by the stalker," said Della, "almost as many by Tanzerian over the past three days. Some celebrities at airports and some other stuff."

  Della Greene then laid out a string of photos that Kirby recognized instantly. They were from the party on Thursday night and showed, like frames from a movie, Erica Cross giving Kirby a peck on the cheek. Kirby also noted that the only one that made it to the internet was the only one that, because of the angle, looked like they were in a full lip lock. Kirby resisted the urge to say 'jinkies,' because he didn't think anyone would get it.

  "Can I see the photos the stalker emailed to Miss Cross?" asked Kirby. Della passed them over and Kirby started flipping through them, studying them carefully as they flashed past him, taking in every detail. They were of Erica going in and out of hotels, sitting in make-up chairs, posing for other people's photos, getting her mail, shopping for groceries, having coffee with Bruce Haring at a sidewalk cafe and even doing her dishes as seen from outside via the kitchen window. The settings for the pictures were several major cities in North America and Europe, at different times of year. According to the date stamps on the corner the stalker took them over many months.

  "Maybe Tanzerian is her stalker," considered Darling. "We'll have to double check his passport to see if they match up with any of the places in these pictures."

  Kirby tucked the photos back into a neat stack and returned them to the work table. He then returned to the stack of Tanzerian's photos. Kirby skipped over the ones featuring Kirby Baxter; because he already knew where and when Tanzerian took those pictures. He set those aside, and he scanned through the others just as quickly as the stalker pictures.

  "He's not the stalker," said Kirby, stopping dead at one particular photo and peering at it closely.

  "You know that just from looking at the pictures he took from the last three days?"

  "Yes," said Kirby, "but I have to talk to him again."

  "Okay," said Darling, "but can I at least have some explanation first?"

  "Armand Tanzerian is a professional paparazzi," said Kirby.

  "Which is a great job for a stalker," said Darling.

  "That's good in theory," said Kirby putting the picture aside and picking up Tanzerian's camera, "but sadly wrong in this case. Tanzerian's camera is high-end, professional grade, with all sorts of fancy lenses and customized extras, like this Bluetooth rig that lets him store back-ups on a separate flash drive even if his camera gets smashed. His pictures show this sort of professionalism. Despite being taken from a distance and with uncooperative, if not hostile subjects, they are carefully composed, with lots of extra shots to make sure he gets the one that's just right."

  "It's not that big a stretch," said Darling, "he is a professional photographer."

  "The stalker pictures are done by a mid-range, off the shelf digital camera," explained Kirby. "The kind with a built in auto-zoom that doesn't go as close as Tanzerian's camera." Kirby picked up one of the stalker photos. "Look at this shot, it was taken from a distance, and it's fuzzy around the edges. The focus isn't as sharp and the composition isn't anywhere near as clear. This stalker is an amateur and doesn't really know anywhere near as much about photography as Tanzerian."

  "So Tanzerian is a scumbag," said Darling, "and probably a creepy pervert, but he's not our stalker, and is probably not our murderer. So why do you want to talk to him again?"

  "I need to talk to him about this picture," said Kirby, holding up one of the photos from Tanzerian's stack.

  "What is that?" asked Darling, narrowing her eyes to study it closer.

  "This is a picture of our murder weapon," said Kirby.

  "Sorry," said the uniformed officer as he led Tanzerian into the conference room, "but Narcotics need all the interrogation rooms."

  "Just sit him there," instructed Darling, pointing to a chair next to the conference table. The uniformed officer took Tanzerian to the chair and the photographer sat down. Gustav took his usual position in the corner behind Tanzerian.

  "I want a lawyer," said Tanzerian.

  "This isn't about your case," said Kirby. "This is about the murder of Erica Cross."

  "So I'm not a suspect anymore?" asked Tanzerian.

  "You are a lot of things," said Darling, "but Mr. Baxter here is convinced that you're not her murderer."

  "Well," said Tanzerian, "isn't that just wonderful."

  "I'm not completely convinced," added Darling, "but I'll give him a chance to show off."

  "All I want to know," said Kirby laying a single photograph on the table, "is where you took this photo."

  "This picture," said Tanzerian. "It's a dumpster full of garbage."

  "But you focused on a specific bag in that dumpster," said Kirby. "Why?"

  "It stood out," said Tanzerian. "Actually, it 'smelled out' if you know what I mean. I caught a whiff of it as soon as I opened the damn thing."

  "That's why you opened this bag and took this picture?" asked Darling.

  "I thought it had to be something funky," said Tanzerian. "Maybe it was a new kind of drug or something like that."

  "But you didn't find drugs," asked Kirby, "did you?"

  "You can see the picture," said Tanzerian, "it's some sort of mangled fruit salad in there."

  "A salad would have more than one kind of fruit," said Kirby, "this bag is full of apples. Apples that look like they've been gutted and torn apart next to broken glass and what look like the parts of a hot plate."

  "Yeah," said Tanzerian, "I'm more of a grape man myself."

  "Where did you take the picture?"

  "It was at the Waterloo Hotel," said Tanzerian, "right under the chute for the trash from the Excelsior floor. Even their garbage gets special treatment."

  "I knew it," said Kirby.

  There was a knock at the door. A young detective stood there with a manila folder in his hand.

  "Sergeant Darling?" asked the young detective.

  "What is it?" asked Darling.

  "We have a possible ID from Mr. Baxter's sketch," said the young detective, "I put together a photo line-up for him to look at."

  "Okay," said Darling, before turning to the uniformed officer, "keep him here until I say, all right?"

  The uniformed officer nodded. Kirby, Darling and Gustav then followed the young detective into the main bullpen. The detective then opened the manila folder, revealing six photographs, all of men of the same build and facial features. It took Kirby less than a glance to spot the one he saw in the bathroom.

  "Number five," said Kirby, without hesitation or doubt.

  "His name is Laval," said the detective. "Montreal police has him as a suspected arsonist and muscle for some of their local gangsters, but he's managed to avoid getting pinched in the last five years."

  "Any idea where he is now?" asked Darling.

  "I checked with his parole officer," answered the detective, "and she told me that he's in the movie business now. He's working security at Northern Star Studios."

  "Let me guess," said Kirby, "that's where they're filming Max Cooperman's latest movie?" The detective nodded.

  "We better check this out," said Darling. "Care to come along?"

  "Yes," said Kirby. "But we should hold on to Tanzerian until we get back. I still want to know everything he knows about those apples."

  "What is it with you and those apples?" asked Darling. "She wasn't beaten to death with a sack of fruit."

  "It's not what's in the bag that's got me freaked out," answered Kirby. "But what wasn't in the bag."

  "All right," said Darling, "I'll bite. What wasn't in the bag oh great detective?"

  "The seeds," answered Kirby. "All the seeds were gone."

  "What's so special about the seeds?"

  "If you know a little chemistry," answered Kirby as they headed to the door, "or can find the right recipe off the internet and can get enough apple seeds, you can kill someone."

  "How?"

  "Apple seeds contain cyanide."

  Tanzerian's eyes drifted along the walls, taking in the posters warning of the dangers of drunk driving, intravenous drugs and life as a runaway on the mean streets of the big city. His eyes then drifted to the coffee maker.

  "So," said Tanzerian, "how long do I have to wait?"

  "You'll wait until Sergeant Darling gets back," said the uniformed officer. "Then she'll decide what to do with you."

  "Fine," said Tanzerian. "Are the handcuffs really necessary?" he asked, half raising the hand that the policemen had cuffed to the leg of the conference table.

  "I think so," said the uniformed officer. Tanzerian let his eyes wander some more. Baxter's jacket hung on a hook. A ball point click pen lay on the table, next to a scattering of half a dozen staples.

  "I'm a little thirsty," said Tanzerian. "Do you have anything to drink?"

  "We have some coffee in here," said the uniformed officer.

  "I'd kill for some tea," said Tanzerian. "That's just a figure of speech, not a confession."

  "I figured that out for myself."

  "Can I get some tea?" asked Tanzerian. "With just a little milk in it."

  "I'll see what's in the break room," said the uniformed officer.

  "You're a saint," said Tanzerian, watching the uniformed officer leave, then waiting a beat, before reaching for the pen, and the staples.

  ISSUE #13

  NO BUSINESS LIKE SHOW BUSINESS

  "Do you have a pass?" asked the guard at the gate of Northern Star Studios with the name tag saying his name was Arthur.

  "This is my universal pass," said Darling, taking out her badge and sticking it out of the window. "I need to see your supervisor."

  "It's Saturday," said the guard, "she's at home, but I'm sort of the supervisor on weekends."

  "Then let us in," said Darling. "We need to talk."

  "Are you all cops?" asked Arthur the guard/supervisor pointing to Kirby in the passenger seat, and Gustav looming in the back of the grey sedan.

  "That's strictly need-to-know," answered Darling.

  "No skin off my nose," said Arthur as he raised the gate and waved them in.

  As she drove in Darling leaned out the window and asked: "Where can we find a security guard named Pierre Laval?"

 

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